


They say we won. They didn't say what we lost.

by Obiwana



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Depressed Steve Rogers, M/M, Steve Feels, post-wake-up angst, there is a small Fury cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6511339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obiwana/pseuds/Obiwana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has trouble adjusting to his new environment, cue angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They say we won. They didn't say what we lost.

Steve was curled up in a ball, trying to get his past to leave him alone, but it was relentless. He put his head between his knees and squeezed them together. It was painful but it was his way to check that he was still awake and the nightmares hadn't dragged him under yet. Steve refused to sleep. He said it was because he'd slept for seventy years, in truth, it was the nightmares. He uncurled a little and then jumped up, as if he didn't move then he would be stuck for forever.

Steve picked up a punching bag and hung it where the last one had been before he broke it. Staying awake meant he didn't have to dream but it also gave him too much time to remember. Images of before the plane went under flashed in his mind. Bucky strapped to the table in the Hydra camp. Him and Bucky at that bar right after escaping Hydra. Bucky making a joke before following him onto a speeding train. Bucky picking up his shield to protect him. Bucky getting shot at. Bucky holding on to the rail reaching out to him. The rail braking. Bucky falling. Bam! Another punching bag was dragged over and the process started again.

Steve wished that he hadn't been woken up. The world had changed in those seventy years. He was the only one left of his team, of his friends. He was all alone.

Some days were full of more subdued remembering. Steve would go to the park and sit with a sketch book propped on one of his knees. He would sketch all the people he used to know, disappointed at all the little imperfections only he could see in the drawings. After he got sick of drawing people from the past he would look around him and draw the other people wandering around the park. One sketch that he drew every time though, despite everything else, was a hand reaching out.

The war haunted his dreams, not because of it being war, no, that wasn't why. It haunted him because that was the only place he felt like he belonged and now it was gone. He followed orders and was a good little soldier. He didn't belong in this new modern world of free spirits.

One day, one of many spent in the park, Steve saw something he never thought he would. Two boys, who looked like they were in their teens, were walking through the park hand in hand and no one batted an eyelash. They sat under a tree and cuddled, sometimes sharing butterfly kisses and little pecks. Steve was fascinated, he started drawing the two before he could stop himself. When he inspected his finished piece he was surprised. The two people in the picture were in the same position as the boys in the park but they looked nothing alike. No, the drawing was of the little guy from Brooklyn and the soldier who followed him back into war. It was a picture of Steve and Bucky, long before the war ever started when the heater broke.

Steve had tears running down his face. He sank lower into his chair as he silently cursed everyone involved in waking him back up. He cursed all the members of Hydra, doctor Zoloft, Hitler, Red Skull. But most of all he cursed himself. He cursed that he couldn't find another way to stop the plane. He cursed that he took so long taking out Red Skull. He cursed that he had Bucky get on that train with him. He cursed himself for Bucky's death.

One night the memories were particularly pushy. They were fighting hard to get control of his head and he knew they wouldn't let go. He fought back, throwing punch after punch at the bag but it did no good, the memories were relentless. He was starting another bag as a voice interrupted him, one from the real world around him. "Trouble sleepin'?"

Steve was annoyed; he tried to push the memories back to focus on the conversation but it was hard. He responded through clenched teeth, "I slept for seventy years sir, I think I've had my fill."

"Then you should be out celebrating, seeing the world." Steve looked over at the intruder, who had moved closer. Steve stepped back from the bag and turned his back on the other man, not wanting to be rude but not wanting the company. All he wanted was to be alone, asleep in the ice again, at peace.

"When I went under the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn't say what we lost."


End file.
